Death Where the Bad Rocks Live (38 page)

“I got the feeling that Judge High Elk’s been a step ahead of us all along.” Manny scanned Sophie’s porch, shimmering heat sending rippling waves over the old woman, accentuated by the magnification of the field glasses. Sophie held a dozen quills soaking in her mouth, while Sonja looked bored and dabbed at the sweat along her neck with a handkerchief. Manny even envied the handkerchief. “I’m still not convinced the judge is my shooter. Or Joe Dozi’s shooter.”

Willie spit Copenhagen out the open window of the van. He didn’t bother wiping the drips from the three-day stubble forming on his ragged face. “No one’s got more to lose than Judge High Elk.”

“I have to agree with Willie,” Janet said. “I’d put money that the good judge would do most anything not to blow this chance at the Supreme Court. I know I would.”

“That’s assuming Judge High Elk knew that Dozi killed Micah Crowder.” Willie opened a MoonPie and took a bite. Crumbs fell onto his shirtfront but he ignored it. “If it got out that Dozi killed Micah Crowder, there would be no worse publicity for the judge.”

“Unless he asked Dozi to kill Micah,” Janet pressed home her point.

Willie turned in the seat and faced Manny. “Or if he killed Micah himself.”

It was out, that scenario Manny didn’t want to consider, that Judge High Elk, appellate court jurist, had killed a man because he wanted the Supreme Court nomination so badly.

“Why would the judge want Micah Crowder dead?” Janet dabbed at the corners of her mouth as she finished her soda. “Just because Micah sent all those nasty letters to the newspapers?”

“No.” Manny paused, gathering thoughts that had been brewing since seeing Micah dead soaking up Badlands dirt. “If the judge killed Gunnar in ’69—and if Micah knew more than he ever told anyone—he’d have to die. If Micah felt so compelled to prevent Judge High Elk from gaining the Supreme Court appointment that he had plans to go public with what he knows, that would be motive enough.”

“Or if Micah was blackmailing the judge.”

“Or blackmailing Dozi.” Manny considered the possibility that Dozi had somehow found Gunnar when he fled to the Badlands during their college days, killing him. Dozi had admitted he and Gunnar had had differences with regards to the war. Had Dozi done just that, and had Micah found out somehow?

“Either way—Dozi or the judge killing Micah,” Willie said—“the judge would have to silence Dozi. The man just knew too much dirt about him.”

Manny gave the binos back to Janet when Sonja left to go to the outhouse. “I just don’t see Ham killing his friend.”

Willie shook his head. “But who else would have been able to walk up on Dozi without raising any alarm bells? He’d have been a hard man to sneak up on and kill unless he dropped his guard.”

Janet set the binos on the seat and rubbed her eyes. “What’s the chance the judge fled the rez?”

Sophie continued pulling, flattening the quills between her teeth, oblivious to their surveillance on the hill three hundred yards from her house. “He’d stay in Pine Ridge,” Manny said at last.

Willie agreed. “He’s comfortable here. Knows the area since his childhood days.”

“He might run to his Spearfish cabin. Somebody’s got to take a drive there.”

“How about asking the Lawrence County SO to send a deputy over there?”

“And risk Deputy Boner busting in on the judge and doing something rash? The judge is only a person of interest—I don’t want Boner getting a boner hurting our witness.”

Willie sighed. “Guess you’re right. I’ll check out his cabin. See if he’s there. If not, there might be something in that cabin we missed.”

“I’ll go with you.” Janet smiled, and in one motion she’d unbuttoned another button on her uniform shirt. She dabbed the sweat from her neck like Sonja was doing on Sophie’s porch. “You can thank me for finding out who stole your flashlight and broke your windows. It’ll give us time to be alone.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Willie said and led the way to his truck hidden by the hillside.

Manny chased his crackers down with the rest of his root beer and stuffed the empty can in the litter bag before taking up the binoculars once again. The sun inched low over Sophie’s house and still no sign of Ham, or of Sophie or Sonja since they’d gone inside an hour ago. And no word from Willie. He and Janet should have been at Ham’s cabin by now, and Manny closed his cell phone.

He put the binos on the seat and set the van in neutral, coasting down the hill toward Sophie’s house, listening. Nothing, as if the crickets and the larks and the chirping ground squirrels had been alerted to his presence and quieted. Manny could hear no sound coming from inside to
indicate that Sophie was cleaning or cooking or stirring about.

Was Ham here, inside the house, waiting? Had Janet parked the van where it could be spotted from Sophie’s house? Manny looked where the van had been parked on the hill, doubting he would have been spotted up there.

His arm brushed the pistol under his coat as he eased the van door shut, expecting the worst as he stepped onto the porch. A loose board creaked under his weight, loud and accusing, and Manny was certain it could have been heard all the way back to town. He held his breath. Silence.

He peeked around the door. Darkness inside. Perhaps Sophie and Sonja were napping, a vain attempt to escape the intense evening heat. Manny took a breath to slow his heart and eased the screen door open. He felt the rough stucco walls as he inched his way along the kitchen, trying to recall the layout of the room. He bumped against the tiny kitchen table. It shoved against the wall and made a faint thud, a moment before a rifle barrel was thrust into his face.

A person gets tunnel vision when confronted by danger, focusing on odd things. Like the spaghetti stain on Sophie’s apron. Or the sprig of purple sage stuck to her shoe. Or the .22 rifle leveled with his head, which appeared much larger at this moment.

“People have been shot for breaking into a house.” Sophie flicked on lights, and her finger grew progressively whiter as it increased pressure on the trigger. “Give me a good reason not to.”

“It would hurt.”

For the first time, Sophie broke into a toothy grin, and she laughed, her dentures clacking against one another, sounding like a pair of castanets as she held them in her mouth. She dropped the muzzle to the floor. “I got to hand it to you, you got guts. But this better be good.”

“I need to talk to Hamilton.” Manny wished he’d had an extra moment to check his pants. As he’d once told Willie, even hotshot federal agents don’t get shot at every day. Or have guns stuck in their faces. “It’s important.”

“He’s not here.” Sonja appeared from the bedroom, her hair matted with sweat as she dabbed at her chest with a wet towel draped around her neck. She looked hot in more ways than Manny could imagine. “He got back late from Marshal Ten Bears’s cabin.”

Sophie glared at Sonja.

“His Suburban was there last night. I was shot at by Marshal’s cabin.”

“What’s that got to do with Hamilton?” Sophie still cradled the .22 in the crook of her arm.

“His ’Burb was still there in the morning when I awoke.”

“He had trouble with it.” Sonja undid another button on her top as if to distract Manny. It worked. “His Suburban wouldn’t start. He said some cells in the battery were dead. Not enough juice to start it. And Marshal wasn’t at his cabin so he walked to the Cuny Café last night and called. I drove up there to pick him up.”

“What time was that?”

Sonja averted her eyes from Sophie’s hard glare. “He said he started walking to the café in the afternoon, but he didn’t make it until dark.”

“That’s a long walk.”

“He’s in shape.” Sonja winked. “Great shape.”

“And where did you drop him off?”

“Here.” Sophie propped her rifle in a corner of the room. “Hamilton stayed here last night. With her.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder, and it was Sonja’s turn to glare at the old woman.

“And where’s he now?”

Sonja shrugged. “Somewhere in my new BMW. He drove Sophie’s car to Gordon this morning.”

“Problems?”

“Hamilton said tie rods were bent.” Sophie glared at Sonja as if she were angry that Sonja was cooperating with a federal lawman. Which she was. “I followed him to a repair shop there and picked him up.”

“Still doesn’t answer where he is now.”

Sonja shrugged. “When he came back he dropped me off and left. Said he’d be back. But I didn’t think he’d leave me stranded like this.”

“He went back up to find Marshal.” Sophie grinned.

“In my Beamer!” Sonja walked around and stood chest to nose with Sophie. “That’s not some rez rod he can ride the ruts down to that cabin. I don’t care how important he thinks he is.”

“Why don’t you wait out on the porch while I talk with Agent Tanno.”

Sonja began to argue, but Sophie stepped closer and the
Journal
reporter turned on her heels and slammed the screen door behind her.

“Guess she’s not used to being ordered around.” Sophie motioned for the couch and Manny sat opposite her. “Last thing Hamilton needs is a damned reporter blowing things out of proportion right before the Senate hearings.”

“Is there something that might blow up?”

Sophie eased herself into her overstuffed chair. Tufts of batting fell onto the floor from a ripped arm. “Hamilton said the bad blood between the Ten Bears clan and that of that good-for-nothing Clayton Charles needed to be buried for good.”

“The way you talk, there’s more than just a little bad feelings between the two.”

Sophie nodded and took out a pipe, filling it with loose tobacco from a tan Bull Durham pouch. She tied the thick green string to seal the bag and dropped it into her apron pocket before lighting up. Stalling. “Clayton Charles—that fine U. S. senator and friend of the Lakota—did nothing for us Oglala. And even less for his son—my husband, Samuel. Didn’t bother Clayton none to abandon him.”

“I don’t see the connection.”

Sophie blew a smoke ring and leaned closer. “Clayton used Moses Ten Bears to get a foothold on Pine Ridge. He made a lot of money selling illegal booze to Indians here. He hung around just enough to get involved with Hannah High Elk—Hamilton’s grandmother—and left Samuel to his own devices. He went to an early grave. Like Moses.”

“You’re not saying Senator Charles killed Moses Ten Bears?”

Sophie shook her head and tamped the embers from her pipe in a Crisco can. “All I’m saying is that Moses spent so much time praying to
Wakan Tanka
for forgiveness for allowing the
wasicu
into the reservation, he fell to his death somewhere in the Stronghold. It’s that bad blood that Hamilton went to clear up with Marshal.”

By now, Sophie would have heard the stories about Moses being found dead in that car with Ellis Lawler. Like so many others on Pine Ridge, she had lived with the story of Moses falling to his death while praying for so long that she was in denial. Something Manny had no intention of arguing over right now. “That brings us back to where I was shot. Within walking distance of Hamilton’s ’Burb.”

“You saying I’m lying to cover for my son?” Sophie’s lip tightened, pursing her dentures out. She clutched the arms of the chair and leaned closer. “Hamilton and his lady was here all night. I should know, those noisy bedsprings kept me awake from the time she brought him back from Marshal’s cabin to when he limped my car to the mechanic in Gordon.”

“Just the same, I’d like to ask him myself.”

Sophie used the arms of her chair to stand. “Good day, Agent Tanno.”

Their conversation ended, Manny knew he’d get nothing else from the old woman today. He’d have to gather his information another way.

Manny leaned over and whispered to Willie, “You never did tell me where the hell you were yesterday. I waited at your apartment for two hours. That’s two hours Janet could have been spotted above Sophie’s.”

“Out.”

“I know you were out, but out where?”

Willie glanced across the conference table at Janet smiling at him. He leaned close and covered his mouth with his hand. “I was late getting back from Rapid.”

“What were you doing there?”